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The Surrender of the Executioner
A Victory-class Star Destroyer has two docking bays - or more accurately, one large 'primary' docking bay and a smaller fighter hangar located further toward the aft of the ship, both located on the ventral side of the hull. Two vast claw-like magna-graples await to secure ships too large to readily be contained in the hangar itself, and the first Republic transport to rise into the space shudders as they close around it. Under different circumstances, this would be very bad news indeed. A docking claw extends, the narrow tube fitting two men abreast and no more. Latching to the transport's primary airlock with a reverbating thud it vacuum seals, a dark haired man in his late twenties dressed in a crisply pressed Imperial naval uniform and wearing the rank bars of a Commander stands just beside the docking port, watching the process through the particle-shielded maw of the bay. Coming aboard with the first wave of transports is Lieutenant Commander Argon Brand. Wearing the duty uniform of the Republic Navy, he is not exactly an imposing figure, of slightly shorter than average height with dark hair, but otherwise non-descript. While Argon may not be imposing, his attitude fits as one would expect, a confidence with a tad bit of cockiness. He turns to his technical personnel, "Secure the computer materials and other sensitive information." After the docking procedure is complete, the Corellian then nods to the other personnel for his escort, as well as individuals to facilitate the loading of the transport, and enters the narrow tube, leading the delegation onto the Executioner. The hangar itself is spartan, even by Imperial standards - two MT/191 Dropships and a Lambda shuttle stand in demarkated bays, the vessels secured by heavy magnetic clamps and insulated pipes as thick as a stormtrooper's arm attaching them to recharging ports. The TIE compliment had met its end their the hands of the X-Wing squadrons and gunships, or else fled the field when the Republic secured their victory and so not a one stands at rest here. "Captain Brand?" the dark haired man, who stands almost two thirds of foot taller than Argon addresses him as he disembarks onto the deck. "I am Commander Walsh, Executive Officer of the Executioner. I have orders to turn over control of this ship to you and assist you in the orderly disembarkation of all aboard." Argon looks around briely until he notices the commander, "I am he, Commander. Where is Captain Shaw?" The Republic personnel disembark after Argon, "I was under the assumption that he would be surrendering the ship." The tone reveals little of Argon's feelings, though he is a little irked at the circumstance. As the other personnel disembark, Argon continues, "I hope that he is well?" "The Captain turned over command to me and went below decks." Walsh replies, raising a hand a junior officer stood unobtrusively off to one side steps forward to present him with a DataPADD, offering his commander a salute which is returned before marching smartly back to position below the vast hangar banner of the Imperial starburst on the port-side wall. "The crew roster." Walsh explains - there is no love lost in his icey, matter-of-fact tone. "Damage reports are still coming in, injuries are being triaged in the medical decks I expect it will be a full hour before all hands are accounted for." "I see, did he mention why he was going below decks?" Argon says while raising a brow and looks over the DataPADD before handing it to one of the marines behind him. "Very well. I will need you to take my technicans and myself to see to the computers. We can begin disembarking your crew." He gestures to the marines and technicians behind him. "Of course..." Walsh steps aside, one arm unfolding from the small of his back to gesture toward the dual shafted turbolifts along the starboard side, a pointed rhetorical jab directed in Argon's direction. "...why prioritise the preservation of human life when there are /shipping reports/ to plunder?" "This is your first time aboard a Victory-class Destroyer, Lieutenant?" the XO asks as they get under way, the polished durasteel decks receiving boot heels with a click to satisfy any drill officer. "The men are to be loaded onto the transports." Argon says, "The injured will be tended to as quickly as we can. Sadly, I am neither a doctor, nor am I able to walk for your men onto the transport. Fortunately, I am capable of inspecting parts of this ship. It's more a matter of efficiency." Argon then nods to the Marine captain behind him, "Captain, see to the crew's disembarking." As they follow the commander, Argon takes in what he can observe and responds, "Indeed. I have spent my career on other ships, though there are certain details that tend to be similar between ships." "Yet you brought technicians and asked to see the computer core, not medical staff and the injured." Walsh isn't letting up. The shooting may be over, but that's not to say hostilities are. The turbolift doors snap open with a sort of curt severity that is very Imperial, the circular car awaiting them. "Deck Five." he nods indicatively toward the control panel. "You have medical personnel and, as you stated, are tending to your own wounded at the moment. I have also found that moving wounded is a delicate matter." Argon says icily, "I have every intent of seeing your crew safely dealt with, it's why you were offered a chance to surrender. The next ship arriving is dedicated for the wounded that can be safely transported but require medical care." He looks around as he enters the turbolift. Walsh lets slip a sigh after a more-than-polite pause, stepping around the Republic crewmen to push the button himself. The doors snap closed, and a mechanical hum accompanies a shift of motion as the turbolift ascends. "May I speak freely, Captain Brand?" Argon raises a brow and looks to the commander, "Please do. It will make things a lot easier if we are speaking as plainly as possible." He adjusts his posture as he looks up at the taller officer. The height differential is something to be leveraged - brow-beating inferior officers is a career skill for an Imperial Naval officer and Walsh has years of experience. He's mindful to stand a little too close to comfort, and force Argon to crane his neck to maintain eye contact. "This crew will obey their Captain, and I will assist you in facilitating the disembarkation of this crew. What you do with this vessel is no longer my concern, but if you imagine for an instant that anyone aboard will betray their oathes or their Emperor and offer you or your men aid and comfort in any other capacity, you are sorely mistaken. You fired on a vessel under flag of truce during negotiation of terms. Six men are in critical condition and two are dead as a result. You are, /Lieutenant/ Brand, a ignoble coward in the service of a dishonourable commander." Whereas brow-beating may be a skill for Imperial Naval officers, being stubborn and unintimidated is a Corellian trait. "Commander, I do not expect you to betray your Emperor or your oath. I am not naive enough to think that extolling the virtues of the New Republic will have you wishing to defect." He straightens his posture as much as he can, "And if you are going to refer to me by my rank instead of by my position, then the customary term is 'Commander', as it is in the Imperial Navy. I am no coward, and Captain Cen is not dishonorable, but I doubt that will change your opinion. I am not here to debate that, I am here to take control of this ship and to ensure that the crew is disembarked." "Once you've finished plundering our data store..." Walsh replies dryly with an arching eyebrow beneath his cap. The turbolift car slows as it reaches its destination, the doors sliding open with a sharp hiss of pressure exchange - databanks line the walls, magnetic tapes scattered across the floor and terminals smoking wrecks. Captain Shaw stands amidst the chaos - his well groomed blonde hair slicked back and combed in neat rows - his own headgear tucked under an arm as he surveys the carnage, a blaster pistol clattering to the deck at his feet as he turns to face the arrivals. "I regret to report, Captain Brand." he addresses the Republic officer. "...that the Executioner's datastores may prove unrecoverable." Argon smells the smoke as the turbolift opens and sees the damage, "Commander, this is why I wished to see this. My fears were confirmed." Argon gestures to the blaster to have a technican recover it. To the captain, Argon says icily, "I see. Captain Shaw I presume?" The Republic officer turns to one of the technicians, "Assess the situation, I believe that he may be correct, but it is worth checking." "In the flesh." Shaw replies, evenly as he steps clear of the discarded weapon and returns his cap to his head with a practiced adjustment to ensure that it sits just right. He does nothing to obstruct the technicans as they begin to fan out. "The Commander is undeserving of your ire, Captain. I told nobody of my intentions here and so you see, I am solely to blame." "Outstanding," Argon says with ihs tone dripping with sarcasm switching to irritation, "I believe you. However, you are in breach of the surrender terms." Argon says bluntly. "Have you anything to say for this?" He glares at the captain, crossing his arms. "Not particularly." Shaw's lips remain quite level as he gives a nonchalant shrug, eyes moving to track the technician moving back past him, having retrieved his blaster. Walsh's coughs sharply, stifling the beginnings of a snigger. "My crew are alive, and I have done my duty. Though, I do believe this is the part where you arrest me, Captain." "Indeed." Argon frowns, "You are under arrest for violating the terms of your surrender. You will be granted all of the rights accorded to you by the laws of war, but you will have to come with me and my men." Argon looks to Walsh, "You will have your men load onto the transports as assigned." He gestures to the turbolift, "I believe we have a crew to disembark."